


The Christmas Song Affair

by laughingacademy



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Christmas, Community: muncle, Gen, Humor, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-22
Updated: 2007-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingacademy/pseuds/laughingacademy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Kuh-riiiisssshhhhtmas, Chrissshhhtmassss teeeeeeyiiiiiiiiiiiimm iz heeeeeeere...'"</p><p>"Oh, bozhe moi," muttered Illya. "Not again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Song Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wiccagirl24](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wiccagirl24).



## New York City, en route to JFK

  


_"Run, run, Rudolph, Santa's got make it to town  
Santa make him hurry, tell him he can take the freeway down ..."_

"You know," Napoleon Solo said, feigning relaxation as the car passed an eighteen-wheeler like it was standing still "it might be faster to have you drive us to the West Coast."

"Mr. Waverly told me to get you to the airport as quickly as possible," the blonde behind the wheel said primly. Then she winked. "What's the matter? Women drivers make you nervous?"

"I have the utmost faith in you, my dear. It's all these other folks that I'm worried about."

"You may have a point — accident ahead. Go 'way now, I have to concentrate."

"Yes, ma'am." With that, Napoleon stopped peering over the driver's shoulder and looked at the car's other passenger. "So, where exactly are we going?"

"Hawthorne, California," Illya Kuryakin replied, flipping through stapled pages in a manila folder. "Known as 'the Cradle of Aviation.' Home of Mattel, the Northrop Corporation, and the Beach Boys."

"I thought Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, was the cradle of aviation."

"No, they're 'First in Flight.'"

"I see. Okay, children's toys, aeronautics, and pop music. Don't tell me ... THRUSH has a fiendish plot to brainwash the youth of America through pop songs and talking dolls."

"That would be no more implausible than some of their other schemes," Illya pointed out. "But I do not think that is what's happening. Here, I've finished with this section. Perhaps you'd like to read it, if you can spare time from flirting."

Napoleon took the pages with a raised eyebrow and a nod, and did his best to read by the light of passing streetlamps. Up front, the driver deftly steered around a three-car collision and turned up the radio.

Half an hour later, the two men were sipping coffee at 15,000 feet and talking over the salient points.

"Last night, Wendell Hulbert, a no kidding rocket scientist, is jumped on his own front door by goons of uncertain provenance. The would-be kidnappers are forced to flee by the arrival of the next-door neighbors, who find Hulbert unconscious and call the cops. Meanwhile, someone breaks into his lab and makes off with various papers and two locked boxes, contents unknown. Sugar?"

"Thank you." Illya stirred, sipped, and said, "I think we should have the guard detail on Dr. Hulbert increased."

"You think they'll try to snatch him from the hospital?"

"I would expect some manner of contact, though probably not another abduction attempt. The items taken from the lab do not appear to have been picked at random, and if our opponents knew what they wanted, they should be aware that they need Dr. Hulbert to access it."

"Fingerprint lock on the boxes?"

"Better: voiceprint. Only the correct phrase, spoken by the correct person, will open the lock and deactivate the self-destruct."

"Just out of curiosity, how bad would it be if they tried to bypass the safety measures?"

"I designed the charges, so..."

##  Hawthorne, California

In the nearest thing the town had to a skid row, a man with a bottle was singing carols with more enthusiasm than pitch or accuracy.

"... 'An evr'y mother'sh chiiillld is gonna spyyy, to shee if reindeeeer rilly knooooow how to flyyyy' ... So ... And ... Damn. Howzat go?"

He frowned at the bottle. It had no answers. He shrugged, swigged, and decided to take it from the top.

"'Cheshnuuuts roastinnn' onna open —'"

__   
**BOOM**   


When his pen warbled, Napoleon let Illya claim their rental car while he took the call. "Looks like someone tried to open their present early," he announced as he slid into the shotgun seat. "HQ just got a call from the local police — there was an explosion in a warehouse across town."

"Casualties?"

"The firemen pulled a couple bodies from the building. No ID. Typical THRUSH muscle, judging from the descriptions."

"Does this change our plans?"

"No, let's go to the hospital and call our contact, Detective, uh, Black was it?"

"Yes, Peter Black."

"Let's call him from Hulbert's room. Assuming the other box and some of our feathered friends survived the blast, the doctor's in more danger now. We can keep an eye on him until reinforcements arrive."

Solo and Kuryakin were climbing the staircase nearest Hulbert's room when they heard someone bellow "STOP THAT MAN!" They sprinted the rest of the way and almost tripped over an unconscious police officer on the floor. A man in a hospital gown had one arm around a sobbing woman and was pointing to an open window with the other. "He went that way!"

Napoleon stuck his head out and saw someone with a bundle hobbling across the grass towards a taxi. "I see him! Illya, stay with them." Thanking providence that they were on the second floor, he jumped, rolled as he landed, and took off after his prey. The limping man looked over his shoulder, spotted the agent, and put on a burst of speed, only to run smack into a passerby. Both men went down, but Solo's quarry managed to regain his feet, grab the whatever-it-was from the pavement, leap into the driver's seat of the cab and pull out with a shriek of abused rubber seconds before Napoleon reached the curb. "Dammit," he panted.

"What a jerk! Did you see that? Guy made me drop Susie's present," sputtered the pedestrian. He leaned over, groaning, and picked up a Chatty Cathy doll. "Jeez, I hope it's okay."

Back in Hulbert's room, the doctor and his wife had calmed down enough to answer Illya's questions. "I'd gone home to change clothes and check on Junior — he's staying next door with the Joneses. I called a cab to take me back to the hospital. But when I got in, there weren't any handles on the back doors, and the driver..."

Hulbert stroked his wife's bent head and said, in a hoarse, deep voice, "He walked right in here with Ellie and said if I didn't do what he wanted, he'd kill her. Then the guard came in, and then you..."

Solo jogged up to Illya, who was leaning against the wall by the door to Hulbert's room and looking grim. "Learn anything useful?"

"They both got a good look at their attacker. But we do not have much time to find him. Hulbert was forced to make a recording of the unlock code."

"I'm sorry," Dr. Hulbert called from his bed. "I had to. I couldn't think — he had a gun, and then he shoved the doll in my face."

Napoleon blinked. "A doll? One of those talking dolls?"

"Yes. He made me recite the pass phrase into its stomach."

"Don't worry, Doctor," Solo said, "It's going to be all right. Hey, you!" He flagged down a security guard, showed him his credentials, and barked, "I need at least two men on this room until the police arrive. Illya, this —" he handed his partner a slip of paper "— is a partial license number for the getaway car. Call the police, give them that and the Hulberts' description of their attacker, and then meet me by the pediatrics unit. I'll explain there."

Five minutes later: "While our THRUSH friend was making his escape, he ran into a man with a present for his daughter Susie. Can you guess what it was?"

Illya slowly shook his head. "No. Oh, no. Not even you can be that lucky."

"Why not? It's the Christmas season, Illya. A time for miracles! According to the front desk, there's only kid named Susie in the hospital right now..."

The good news: the hapless pedestrian, Nick Sinter, had been visiting his daughter. The bad news: his estranged wife, Myra, had thrown him out because the doll had frightened Susie. ("It's supposed to have the voice of a little girl! That thing made Johnny Cash sound like one of those singing chipmunks!") No, she didn't know where he'd gone. Maybe the fleabag where he was staying, more likely some bar.

"Split up?"

"Guess so. Call me if you spot him."

"Or course."

## Hawthorne Municipal Jail

"'Kuh-riiiisssshhhhtmas, Chrissshhhtmassss teeeeeeyiiiiiiiiiiiimm iz heeeeeeere...'"

"Oh, bozhe moi," muttered Illya. "Not again."

"'Tiiiimmme fer joyyyy 'n' teeyiiimmm fer cheeeeer...'"

"I can't believe I'm spending Christmas Eve in jail," moaned Sinter.

"'Weeee've bin gooood but weeee can't laaassshhhht...'"

"Better the jail than the morgue."

"'Hurrrry, Chrism'ssssshhhh, hurrrry faaaasssshhht...'"

"And as jails go, this one is not so bad," Illya concluded.

The caroler tried for a high note, missed, and let the words "hula hoop" dissolve into brays of laughter. Illya and Sinter sighed in relief ... and then winced in unison as he started again at the beginning.

"How much longer 'til your friend gets us out of here?"

The agent shrugged, then looked up as a familiar voice approached. "Illya, have you been naughty again?"

## U.N.C.L.E. New York

"...managed to start a bar fight and got himself, Sinter, and nearly all the THRUSH arrested. But of course the one who did escape had his gun and ID, so he was stuck in jail until I could vouch for him. It took a while to find him, since the desk officer had misheard the name and listed him as 'Ian Currier.'"

Waverly drew on his pipe. "And what of the boxes?"

"It turned out only one contained a prototype small rocket lift device —" he dearly wanted to say "jet pack," but both Hulbert and Illya had lectured him on the term's inaccuracy — "and it was destroyed. The other box was being used to store Junior's Christmas presents. Luckily, we recovered that one intact. Also, we were able to replace Hulbert's recording with something more appropriate, so Susie got her doll after all."

"Goood, good. I'll want a full report on my desk by Monday...but in the meantime, enjoy the party."

"Thank you, sir."

When Solo entered the cafeteria, his partner was standing by the sound system with Mark Slade, who was dropping the needle on an LP. "I think you'll find this interesting — it's the soundtrack of a cartoon, of all things ..."

Illya winced in anticipation of singing rodents, then relaxed as he realized what he was actually hearing was a jazzy arrangement of "O Tannenbaum."

"Mark, Illya — Merry Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas!"

"And to all, a good night."

**Author's Note:**

> "Run Rudolph Run," by Chuck Berry, was released in 1958, as was "The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don't Be Late)," by Alvin and the Chipmunks.
> 
> Nat King Cole first recorded "The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)" in 1946, and released what many consider the definitive version in 1961.
> 
> _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ premiered in 1965.


End file.
